


Freedom Is Hard

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, F/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-01-08 08:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12251133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Layla is purchased by Dean Winchester she has no idea what to expect, but whatever guess she had, it was certainly not this.





	1. Chapter 1

I didn't know who had bought me. Not for certain. All I knew was that it was a man. I knelt there, the cold cement cutting my knees. Goosebumps stood out on my legs and arms. The thin and short skirt coupled with the cropped top doing little to ward of the chill. The cold metal cuffs on my wrists and ankles did nothing to help either. I worked at the gag in my mouth. I could probably spit it out, but with the guard at my elbow that wouldn't do any good. And it would anger my new master. And just now I couldn't afford to do that. I couldn't be sent back. I needed my master. I needed his protection. So I needed him to want me. I need to a perfect slave. So I ignored the chill, the burning ache in my legs and neck, the pull at my shoulders, and stayed motionless. Eyes trained on the floor, head bowed. The picture of humble submission.

I heard the door open and started to raise my head. A firm hand pushed it back down. More like slapped, but whatever. It's not like I hadn't had worse. I lowered my head and bit my lip. A pair of boots moved into my field of vision. I closed my eyes and focused on my heart beat. The steady thud drowning out the voices of the guard and my new Master conversing. I kept on ear half open for any thing that could be directed at me.

At last the guard turned away and left. I heard the door swing shut behind him a deep silence settled over the room. My master sighed. I flinched.

"Finally." He said.

His voice wasn't what I had expected. He sounded tired, and both young and old at the same time. It's hard to explain, but his voice made me curious. I wanted to look up at him, but held back. I would wait. I would be as good as I knew how at least until we were away from this cursed place. He crouched next to me.

"Okay, so I have to leave these on until we get out of here okay? But then they come right off. Alright?" He asked.

I nodded. Some sort of acknowledgement was needed but the gag prevented me from speaking.

He put an arm on my elbow and lifted me to my feet. I bore down on my cheek and kept from flinching away from him. I kept my eyes lowered and on his boots.

"Stay behind me." He ordered and started for the door.

I kept the proper distance. Two steps behind and one step to the left, I followed him down the hallways at a shuffling run. It didn't take long to exit the building. Outside a chill was rising from the ground and the crisp fall air chilled me to the bone as I hurried after my new Master. He lead the way through the dark to were an old black car was parked and the far side of the lot. He opened the passenger door and motioned for me to get in. I looked at the car for a moment. Trying to formulate a plan to enter.

My Master seemed irritated. Taking my arm he half pushed, half guided me into the passenger seat. I allowed him guide me with out protest, bearing down on my cheek once again. The metallic taste of blood mixing with the foul taste of the cloth in my mouth.

He went around the other side. Slipping into the car he slammed the door and pulled away. He didn't speak as we moved away from the warehouse. I didn't move. We drove for several minutes, then he pulled into a parking lot. Peaking up through my lashes and I saw that it was a motel. He must have come to town specially for the auction. And that was bad. That meant he had experience with slaves. He pulled in a parking spot, turning off the car, he slid out of the seat. I waited till he came around to my side. This time I tried to get out on my own. I scrambled out very awkwardly and nearly stumbled into him.

He took my elbow and hurried my across the lot. In a moment we were out of the cold fall air and in the motel room. Pushing open the door he guided me through ahead of him and locked the door behind himself. As soon as the door was closed I dropped to my knees and bowed my head. I knew what was expected of me and I would swallow whatever tiny shred of pride I might have left and do it. Because slavery to this man was better that the alternative.

I would be a good slave.


	2. Chapter 2

I waited there with my head bowed. My knees were already protesting my position, but I ignored it. I waited. My arms clasped behind my, my head bowed, and my eyes lowered.

My Master walked right past me and collapsed on a bed. I hesitated a second before peeking at him through my hair which hung before my eyes. He lay on his back, sprawled across one of two beds. His booted feet hung off the side and rested on the floor. From my angle I couldn't see his face.

The silence was shattered by the harsh ring of a phone. I jumped at the noise. My Master pulled the phone from his pocket and put it to his ear without sitting up.

"Yeah." He said. He sounded tired, and irritated.

I took my worried lip between my teeth. This was a bad sign. My master was mad. What had I done? I must have done something? And in so little time. I was failing. And I couldn't afford to fail. Not this time. I needed to succeed. My life depended on it. I had to make it up to him. Some how I had to show that I could be a good slave. My train of thought was interrupted when my Master spoke again.

"Yeah. OK. No, I'm back at the room. Yeah, yep. Don't wake me up when you come in then."

I listened warily to the one sided conversation, searching every word for some sort of clue as to what my Master was like, but finding none.

"Yeah." My Master sat up. He held the phone to his ear with one hand while the other pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right then. Bitch." He finished, the word seemed almost affectionate and he grinned at whatever the person he was speaking to said and then closed the phone with a click.

Sighing he let the phone fall from his fingers to land on the bed spread beside him. I watched him carefully. He rubbed his face with one hand. I studied him carefully, but the only light in the room came through the stuttered window, leaving his face in shadow. I worried my lip harder, waiting. Finally, he stood. I ducked my head and waited.

"What are you doing?"

The question shocked me. I would have thought it was obvious. I was waiting. Patiently. Quietly. Like a good slave. What did he mean? Was he mad? Did I mess up already? I didn't answer him. Speaking would definitely make whatever I had done worse. It would be better to just wait for the punishment. He moved closer and bit my lip harder, bracing myself for the pain. But it didn't come. Instead my Master crouched in front of me and spoke again.

"What are you doing?"

I worried my lip. It was bleeding steadily now, the pain was familiar. It was my choice and it was comforting. He had repeated the question. He wanted an answer. And I had refused. I just kept screwing up. This was very very bad.

I licked my lips, the bitter taste of my own blood prominent in the mixture of blood, sweat, tears, and dust that caked my whole face.

"Waiting Master." I said softly. Careful to keep the subservient tone and the perfect volume. Soft enough that it wasn't threatening but not so soft that he had to strain to hear me.

"Wait-Master? No, don't call me that." He stood quickly, striding angrily away from me.

I clenched my teeth. he was mad again. This was only getting worse. I couldn't fail. I couldn't.

"I'm sorry, sir." I lay forward against my thighs, pressing my forehead to the carpet. "Please forgive me, sir. I won't do it again."

"What? No, I'm not...it's not..." He couldn't seem to finish his sentence and trailed off, leaving me to imaging all sorts of terrible things he was considering doing to me.

One thing I had learned from his sentence was that he was still mad. He wanted more then my apology and my promise to do better, to be better. He wanted to take it out of me somehow. I folded myself smaller, trying to seem frail and weak, not it it was that hard.

"I'm sorry, Mas-sir. I'm so sorry. Please punish me." It hurt to force out the last few words, but I swallowed my pride and ground them out. I needed him to want me. I needed him to see that I could be good. I would be good.

Several long moments of silence stretched threateningly above me as I waited hoping for the stinging sensation of pain. Of a punishment that would wipe the slate clean and give me another chance to be good. To make him want me. But as before there was no pain. No forgiveness. In stead I felt a gentle weight on the back of my head for a moment before he removed his hand.

"Would..." He began then hesitated. "Can you sit up, please?"

For a moment I was frozen in place. Please? He said please. What did that mean? I sat up slowly, returning to my kneeling position, this time resting my palms on my thighs, my gaze focused on the carpet by his knee.

"Could you look at me please?" He said.

Once again the presence of the word please stopped me in my track, but this time it was only a few seconds before I hesitantly raised my head to focus on his left shoulder. I was careful to leave my hair hanging between my face and him. If he saw what I had done to my lip he would probably be mad. I was starting to understand him. He was tempting me. He didn't want to punish me. He wanted me to love him. Or to pretend to love him. He didn't want a bed slave to use and abuse. He wanted a pet. He wanted me to be his pet. Bile rose in my mouth, but I swallowed it down. Being his pet would be better then dying. And I knew that if he sent me back what was awaiting was even worse then death. I could be his pet. I could do this. I had to do this.

"Um...I'm Dean."

I didn't know how to respond to this so I remained silent.

"What's your name?" He asked after it became clear that I was not going to reply to his previous statement.

"Whatever Master wishes." I murmured instantly. For once I knew what to say.

My Master sighed in irritation. That's when I realized. I had called him Master. He had just told me not to and I did anyway. Instantly I folded over on myself.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry sir! Please, I'm sorry. I won't do it again, I promise, I'm sorry!" I beg shamelessly. Already! I had already screwed up again! What was I, stupid? I folded my hands into my hair and began to pull on it in frustration and fear. Once again the self inflicted pain providing a twisted comfort.

"Stop! Stop that." I felt hands on my wrist and the reprimanding tone in my Master's voice.

I instantly stopped and stiffened in his grip.

"You'll hurt yourself." My Master was saying. "Do you have a real name?"

I hesitated a moment. Then licking my lips I answered him. "Yes sir."

"Great." He said relieve. "What's your name?"

"La-" I choked on the word. It had been so long since I had used it, and my last master who had used it...I didn't want to think about him. I swallowed hard and forced the words out.

"Layla sir. My name is Layla."


	3. Chapter 3

"Layla." My Master said. My name sounded strange on his tongue. "That's an odd name."

What did that mean? Did he not like my name?

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Huh?" He said, confused.

I bit my lip again, not sure what to say.

"I'm sorry Sir?" I repeated.

"What? What are you are you sorry for?" He sounded perplexed. 

I licked my lips, once again, not sure what he want me to say. "I'm sorry about my name sir. Do you want to change it?"

My Master just stared at me, shaking his head. "Why?"

Dammit! If he had to ask a question why couldn't he pick one I knew the answer to! Was he trying to make me fail? Dammit...was he trying to make me fail? I worried my lip again. Maybe he was....what did I do?

"Because it's weird Master?" I offered.

There was moment of silence before I realized what I had done. Again.

I started, snapping up right, a look of horror stamped on my face. Three times in a row! I had called him master three times! And he told me not to and I did! I lept forward on my knees, my cuffed hands grasping at the tail of his shirt as I bent my forehead to the floor between his feet.

"I'm sorry sir! I'm sorry! I promise, please, I promise, I'll be good! I'll be better, please, I'm sorry. I won't do it again, never ever ever, please, please, sir! Please, I'm sorry!"

I was begging, pleading shamelessly and just the thought of it made my stomach churn, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop myself. So I begged.

His hands caught mine, his warm, calloused and gentle. Mine, cold, bruised, and shaking in fear. He tried to remove my fingers from the material of his shirt, and I should have let go. I should have let him move my hands but I didn't. I couldn't. My fingers wouldn't listen. They curled tighter into the material as my please dissolved into wordless sobs.

My Master crouched in front of me and I curled my arms closer to me, pulling his shirt to my face and hiding my face in it. Hiding my tears I continued to sob loudly. I felt a hand in my hair again, but was to wound up on fear to move. I just huddled there, crying letting my Master stroke my head as he murmured soothing phrases until I was finally able to bring my panicked sobs down to an occasional whimper. I still couldn't seem to let go of the shirt.

"You okay Layla?"

I opened my mouth to speak but the only sound that came out what another whimper.

"Shh...it's okay, you're okay. I'm right here. You're okay Layla." He said, still stroking my head.

"I-I'm sorry." I whimpered. "Please, I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He said again. "It's all okay."

"It's okay sir?" I sniffled into his shirt tail.

"Yes, it's okay." He said.

It took me a moment, but I was finally able to uncurl my fingers from the cloth of his shirt. I pulled back, folding my hands in my lap and resting my forehead on the carpet near my Master's knee.

"You okay?" The hand left my hair, and I found myself missing it.

"Yes, sir." I said.

"Good."

We sat there in silence for a long moment. Then my Master spoke again.

"Can you...can you sit up, Layla?"

I sat up, palms on my thighs, head lowered submissively. Waiting.


	4. Chapter 4

My knees were screaming at me. The cold that had settled in me at the auction house was still present. my eyes were puffy from crying, and my head was pounding. I sat motionless. Blood drying on my lip and tear tracks tracing lines down my filthy face. My Master, no, Sir, crouched on the floor in front of me.

"I'm Dean." He repeated.

I nodded. "Yes Sir."

"Um...you...you don't have to call me "Sir", Layla."

"Yes Si-...I mean...I...Yes.." I trailed off. What on earth was I supposed to call him then? He told me not to call him Master. If I could use Sir what the hell was I supposed to do?

"Just call me Dean." He supplied, sensing my uncertainty.

I opened my mouth and tied to make myself speak, but I just couldn't push his name past my lips. All of my training was against such a display of disrespect. I could feel the phantom whip striking my back and hear my screams as if they were echoing down the long empty corridors of my mind. I nodded. Fixing my eyes back on the ground and hiding my face behind the curtain of my hair.

There was a long painful moment of silence, the my master, no...Mr. Dean stood.

"Would you like a shower, Layla?" He said, no, he asked.

I bit my lip. He kept asking questions. Questions, I didn't know how to answer. What was I supposed to do? I hesitated for a moment, then, remembering that Mr. Dean liked me to answer him verbally, I spoke.

"Whatever Mr. Dean wishes." I said hesitantly.

I was fairly certain he wouldn't like this answer, but I just didn't know what else to say. Mr. Dean sighed and turned toward the bed.

"I'll take that as a yes I guess." I heard him mutter as he began rummaging through a duffel bag.

I watched from behind my hair as he pulled a few things out before turning back to me. I ducked my head quickly. A slave is not to look at their master without permission.

"Do-could you stand up for me? Please?" Mr. Dean said, his tone questioning again.

I knew that a request to move was only a really nice order, so stood swiftly, keeping my eyes trained down and my hair hiding my damaged lip. Mr. Dean was bound to be angry if he saw the many small tares in the sensitive flesh of my lip. I remembered that he hadn't like me pulling my hair, he certainly wouldn't want me hurting my lip either.

Mr. Dean started for the bathroom and after a moment, I followed cautiously. He opened the door and stepped inside, setting the bundle of clothing he had pulled from his bag on the sink side and pulling back the shower curtain. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. My heart was pounding, but I had to keep my breathing even. I didn't think Mr. Dean would like it if I showed how scared of him I was. I stood silently, just inside the door as He turned on the water and carefully adjusted the temperature, testing it with one hand. I watched all this in measured silence, still focusing on breathing deeply and evenly.

After a minute or two Mr. Dean seemed satisfied with the water temperature and, drying his hand on his shirt, he turned to me.

"Go ahead." He said gesturing toward the water. "Oh, right." He pulled a key ring from his pocket and stepped towards me.

I tensed then relaxed slightly as he began to remove the shackles from my wrists and ankles. As the cold metal fell away I resisted the urge to rub my wrists, letting them hang at my sides, I waited for instruction.

“Alright,” Mr. Dean said, dusting his hands off and kicking the chains into a corner. “Now go ahead. I got you some cloths. They’re mine, so they’ll be pretty big, but I figured that anything would be better then...” He gestured at my skirt and top vaguely.

I schooled my face into a blank expression. “Yes, Mr. Dean.” I said.

Mr. Dean nodded. I took a deep breath and, reaching for the hem of my shirt, began to pull it over my head.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hang on a sec!” Mr. Dean said, covering his eyes with one hand. “Wait till I leave!”

I quickly pulled my shirt back down. “I’m sorry Ma-Mr. Dean.” I said, tripping over my words in my hast.

“Right.” He said, turning quickly for the door as if he expected me to start stripping again any second. “Take your time. I’ll just...be out here.”

"Yes, Mr. Dean." I replied.

With one final nod he disappeared through the door, shutting it firmly behind him. I stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where he had stood. Then I shook myself. Mr. Dean had told me to wash and I didn't know how much time I had. It was best to get started.

I quickly stripped off the filthy tatters from the slave market and hesitantly stepped under the water. I was surprised to find it warm. The soothing liquid pounded lightly on my shoulders and I took several deep breaths, relaxing slightly, before remembering that Mr. Dean was just in the other room. I quickly began to wash myself. After some deliberation I used the motel soap to clean myself and try and wash my hair.

It took much longer then I had expected to wash my hair well enough that water would run clear through it. I could still feel the oil in it, but I didn't think I had anymore time to waste. So I quickly shook the water out of it and stepped out onto the bathroom floor.

After toweling off quickly with one of the towels I moved the sink and examined the clothing Mr. Dean had left for me. There was a long sleeved shirt, a loose pair of sweat pants, a pair of socks, and a flannel shirt, like the one Mr. Dean wore. I stared at them for a moment, then, glancing over my shoulder at the door which I expected to be flung open at any moment, I slipped into the garments. Mr. Dean had been right in saying that everything would be to big. I had to roll up the pants several times and the shirt sleeves hung several inches past my hands. But I liked the excess of cloth. It was much better then what I was used too.

Taking one last look in the mirror to make sure I had gotten all the dirt off my face, I shook my hair in front of my face and carefully opened the door.

"I finished, Mr. Dean."


	5. Chapter 5

Mr. Dean was sitting on one of the beds, his laptop open in his lap. He looked up when I spoke and I curled into myself under his gaze.

"Oh, right." He cleared his throat, closing the computer and setting it aside on the nightstand.

He stood, walking towards me. He rubbed his hands on his pants, a gestured I wasn't sure what to make up and smiled at me. I fought to keep from stepping back as he drew near me.

"I told you they'ed be big." He said, huffing a laugh and gesturing at the clothing that hung off my tiny frame.

I glanced at his clothing and nodded. "Yes, Mr. Dean," I said softly.

He cleared his throat again and shifted his weight. I clenched my teeth and held still. He was my master and he didn't like it when I acted scared of him. So I had to pretend.

"So...Um..." He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Uh...I thought, that is, maybe...I...are you hungry?"

Another moment of hesitation. I knew what I would have said into any of my past Masters. But I was fairly sure Mr. Dean wouldn't like to hear it. So after a moment of silence, I said, "Yes, Mr. Dean."

Mr. Dean nodded, stepping back and turning toward the door. "Great." He said. "I, uh, there's a dinner. Over across the street. So I thought maybe, that is, I can go get something...and bring it back."

"Yes, Mr. Dean," I said again, I wasn't sure what else I could say, so I stuck to a simple "yes".

"Right then." He backed toward the door. "I'll just go then. Make yourself comfortable." He said, gesturing around the room.

"Yes, Mr. Dean."

He nodded one last time and disappeared through the door. I heard the car start in the parking lot outside and listened to the hum as it pulled away. He was gone. He had left me alone.

I stood there motionless for a long moment. This had to be some sort of test. But what on earth did he want me to do?

I looked around the room, taking in the bags thrown carelessly on the floor, the unmade beds, and the empty takeout boxes on the table. I nodded to myself. I knew what to do.

I went straight to work, starting with the mess on the table, then making the beds. After I had straightened the sheets, I turned to the bags.

Clothes still spilled out of Mr. Dean's bag and onto the floor. I hesitated a moment, unsure. I didn't think Mr. Dean would want me to sort through his bag, but to leave his clothing on the floor was definitely not an option. After a moment of deliberation, I just folded the clothing on the floor and tucked it back into the bag. I had just folded the last piece and was tucking it in next to a pair of jeans when I saw it. A handgun, nestled amongst the socks and boxers in Mr. Dean's bags.

I froze. Mr. Dean had a gun. I swallowed hard, and then put the shirt in a zipped the bag closed with shaking hands. Taking up a kneeling position near to the door I tried to calm myself. Mr. Dean had a gun, but I didn't know why yet. Lots of people had guns. It was nothing to worry about. I took deep breaths, closing my eyes, bowing my head, and folding my hands in my lap as I emptied my mind and just relaxed.

I was so focused on relaxing that I didn't notice the door had opened until the click of a gun cocking cut through my consciousness. My eyes snapped open and my gaze fixed on a pair of booted feet directly in front of me.

"Who are you?" The owner of the boots said.

I bowed my head farther and tucked my shoulders in, trying to make myself seem even smaller.

"I'm Mr. Dean's slave, sir." I murmured softly, concentrating on the submissive tone.

"Mr. Dean? Slave!" The voice spoke again, clearly shocked by my statement.

"Yes, sir," I replied then bit my tongue.

Just because Mr. Dean wanted me to talk didn't mean this man did. I needed to remember my training.

"Slave." The voice repeated. "You're Dean's slave?"

"Yes, sir."

There was a tense moment of silence. Then the feet moved towards me. I flinched away, cowering away from the stranger.

"Hey, hey." He said, crouching to my level. "I'm not gonna hurt you." He said softly, as if I was a frightened animal. Which honestly wasn't that far off the mark.

"It's okay." He continued. "Everything's okay. Can you look at me?"

I hesitated only a moment, the similarities between him and Mr. Dean surprising. I raised my head glancing at him through my damp hair. He looked like Mr. Dean. He had the same build, probably a little taller, but I could tell at a glance that they were related. Maybe cousins or brothers. He had the same sad, weary eyes. And the gentle smile on his lips looked just like Mr. Dean's. For some reason, I found that comforting and relaxed slightly.

"Do you have a name?" He said gently.

"Yes, sir. My name is Layla, sir." I said directing my gaze at his knee.

"It's nice to meet you, Layla." He said. "My name's Sam. I'm Dean's brother."

"Yes, Sir." I replied.

"You don't have to call me "sir", Layla. Do you know where Dean is?"

"Yes, Mr. Sam. Mr. Dean is at a diner, Mr. Sam." I answered, addressing him in much the same fashion as I had Mr. Dean.

"Just call me "Sam", Layla." Mr. Sam said. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

I bit my lip. "No...S-sam. Mr. Dean didn't say, Sam." I ducked my head again, drawing blood from my lip as I fought against the rising panic.

There was a moment of silence, then Mr. Sam reached out a hand towards me and I flinched away. Mr. Sam opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, we where interrupted.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Didn't mean to take so long to post this.

"Dinner is served!" Mr Dean called cheerfully, dropping a brown paper bag from which wafted the most amazing scents.

 

He quickly stripped of his jacket and dropped it on the bed before turning to face me and Mr. Sam.

 

"Ah. Sam." he said.

 

Sam stood. "What the hell is going on here Dean?"

 

"It's not what it looks like." Mr. Dean said, raising his hands defensively.

 

"Oh? So you'r telling me you didn't just buy a slave? Cause that's sure as hell what it looks like!" Sam snapped, folding his arms across his chest and glaring angrily at his brother.

 

"No!'

 

"Oh really? Cause Layla here say's something different." He growled angrily, jerking his head at me.

 

I ducked my head and bit down hard on my lip. Now I was going to get in trouble. There was no way Mr. Dean wouldn't punish me after he knew that I was the reason Mr. Sam was mad at him. After he knew I had told Mr. Sam I was his slave. It didn't matter that he had never told me not to. It was my job to know what he wanted. I was so screwed. I would be lucky if he didn't sell me.

 

"It's not that simple Sam!" Mr. Dean shot back, unaware of the thoughts flying through my mind.

 

"Oh isn't it Dean? Cause it seems pretty damn simple to me!"

 

This was bad. Mr. Sam wanted me gone. He didn't want me. He was going to make Mr. Dean sell me. I had to stop him. I had to make him want me. I needed to show him I could be good.

 

"Goddammit Sam! I was trying to help her!" Mr. Dean was saying.

 

"Help her? You call this helping her!"

 

"Yes!"

 

"She's slave Dean! You're slave. You bought a person!"

 

Someone was begging. I could hear them pleasing. I wondered faintly who it was. I was bent of my knees again. I could feel my hair between my fingers and the dull ache at my skull. I suddenly realized I was pulling my hair. And I could feel blood trickling down my chin. And then I recognized the pleading voice.

 

It was mine.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry this took so long. I've just been rushed off my feet with work lately. So sorry everyone. :}

Immediately there was silence. Mr Dean and Mr. Sam suddenly fell silent and the only sound to be heard was my soft pleading.

Throwing a glare at Mr. Sam, Mr Dean hurries to my side, crouching down till we were on the same level.

"You okay?"

I struggled to slow my rapid breathing and nodded. I wasn't okay but that wasn't what Mr Dean wanted to hear so I nodded.

"Layla?" Mr Dean reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. I flinched then leaned slightly into his hand. He had been so nice so far and the warmth felt good.

"Are you okay, Layla?" Mr Dean repeated.

I hesitated a second. Then turned slightly and gingerly raised my eyes to Mr. Dean's face. He looked worried. I hesitated only a moment longer before gingerly curling into his side an burying my face in his shoulder.

For a moment Mr. Dean froze. Then his as camp up and wrapped carefully around me.

"It's okay. He murmured softly in my ear as i clung desperately to him. Afraid that if I let go he might get rid of me.

We stayed like this for several minutes. Then Mr. Sam spoke.

"Is she okay?"

I tensed in Mr. Dean's arms. Mr.Sam made me scarred. More scarred then Mr. Dean did.

"Shh." Mr. Dean's hand was in my hair again and I tried to relax back against him.

There was silence again and I let my eyes close and just focused on the gentle stroking of the hand in my hair. eventually, Mr. Dean broke the silence.

"Layla?" He said. "You feeling better?"

I wanted to say no in hopes he would keep holding my, but truthfully, I did feel better and I was pretty sure Mr. Dean didn't want to keep touching me so I pulled away and nodded, directing my gaze back to the floor.

"Good." Mr. Dean pulled away, standing up and turning away from a moment.

I folded my hands in my lap and tried not to think about anything. Mr. Dean was muttering to Mr. Sam but I didn't bother trying to listen. I just knelt there in my own little world and tried not to feel anything at all. Not fear or hunger or despair. I just stared at my hands and waited.

"Layla?" Mr. Dean was speaking to me.

"Yes, Mr. Dean?" I replied softly.

"You want some supper?" He asked, holding out a hand to me.

I look it after only a seconds hesitation and Mr. Dean pulled me to my feet. I followed him to the table where I was about to sink to my knees when his hand on my arm stopped me.

"Take a chair Layla."

I froze for a second. Sit in a chair? Had he really said such a thing? There was another long moment where I just stood there, not at all sure what to do. Then Mr. Dean pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit. Carefully and very nervously I settled onto the edge of the seat.

Mr. Dean quickly sat down to my right and pulled the paper sack he had brought earlier toward him.

"Take a shower Sam." Mr. Dean said without looking up from where he was digging into the bag. "You stink."

"Right, yeah...I'll go...do that." Mr. Sam said and hurriedly disappeared into the bathroom.

"So, we have some burger and fries. Classic." He began setting food in front of me.

My mouth dropped open as the large foil-wrapped sandwich was placed before me accompanied with the golden brown fries. My mouth was watering from the smells and I clenched my finger in my borrowed jeans to keep from digging into the bounty laid before me.

Mr. Dean picked up his burger sinking his teeth into it with a moan that made me blush and look down at my lap.

"Dig in Layla." He said around the mouthful. "That's all for you so eat up.'

I waited only a moment longer. I had permission and I was so hungry. Throwing caution to the winds I picked up the burger and sank my teeth into the delicious piece of food letting slip a moan to rival Mr. Dean's.

"That's the spirit." He said and fell to again.

Silence reined as the two of us ate heartily. The only sound was the steady hum of the shower and the contented sighs of the two of us enjoying a wonderful meal.

As I worked my way through the food, I tried not to think of what I might have to pay for this meal.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go. I'll make no promises about future updates aside from the fact that they will be a thing.

All to soon the food was gone. I sat there silently as Mr. Dean finished his fries, fiddling with a napkin beneath the table. The shower shut off and the room was suddenly cloaked in uncomfortable silence. I ducked my head, tearing at the napkin.

The door opened with a seemingly loud creak and Mr. Sam appeared in the doorway. His damp hair hung limply on his shoulders. His worn jeans hung low on his hips and his shirt was draped over one arm. Mr. Dean barely glanced up from his food. I took one look and curled in on myself, my fingers reducing the napkin to shreds.

"Sam." Mr. Dean said around the last of his fries. "Put a shirt on."

Mr. Sam rolled his eyes and pulled the garment over his head. "Did you get me any?" He said, gesturing at the remnants of the meal.

My stomach dropped. Mr. Sam hadn't eaten and I had. Shaking slightly, I slipped from the chair, falling to my knees beside it. He would be mad. I knew he would now. I ducked my head and tightened my hands on my thighs, waiting.

There was silence for a long moment. Mr. Sam was the first to speak.

"Dean." He said. "What happened?"

Mr. Dean didn't reply. I bit my lip, the spike of pain calming my churning mind for a moment.

"Layla?" Mr. Dean's gentle voice seemed so soothing in the tense silence. "You okay, Layla?"

After a moment of silence, I nodded. No, I wasn't alright, but Mr. Dean wanted me to be alright, anyone could see that, so I just nodded. Besides, Mr. Sam wouldn't want Mr. Dean to waste his time on a broken, useless slave. If he thought I was more hassle then I was worth...I shuddered and dug my teeth into the tender flesh of my cheek. I couldn't think about that.

"Are you sure?" Mr. Sam was the one to speak now.

I flinched and then froze. Shit. Mr. Dean didn't like it when I was afraid. God, I just couldn't keep from messing up could I? Stupid, useless-I twisted my fingers in to my hair, pulling again and hunching forward over my knees.

"Layla?" Mr. Dean spoke again, and this time he was right next to me.

I curled tighter, he would be mad. But I just couldn't stop.

"Layla?" Mr. Sam spoke.

I flinched away from him, turning to Mr. Dean for a moment before catching myself. I didn't want Mr. Sam to think I was using Mr. Dean to get out of punishment for eating dinner while he was still hungry. Taking a deep breath I pulled away from the comfort of Mr. Dean's warm frame and toward Mr. Sam. He stood just a few steps away, towering over me.

"I'm sorry Mr. Sam." I said and pressed my forehead to the carpet.

Once again there was a long moment of silence.

"What?" Mr. Sam's voice came from above me, laced with anger.

I cowered before him. What had I done now? I had apologized. I didn't expect him to just let it go but why had that made him more angry? The I remembered

Shit.

_Shit._

What was I? Stupid? He had told me to address him as "Sam" and here I was like and idiot, calling him "Mr. Sam" after he had told me not too. Oh, for god's sakes. I was useless after all.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to disobey you. I won't do it again, Sam. I'm sorry." I hurridley tried to correct my mistake, but I knew it was already t late. 

Mr. Sam was mad at me. And my mumbled apologize wouldn't stave off the punishment I was sure was coming.

"Sam." Mr. Dean's voice was cold and emotionless. "Why don't you go out and grab yourself some dinner."

"Right." Sam said, and quickly turned away.

I didn't move from my position on the floor. The door closed behind Sam, but I stayed where I was. Mr. Dena hadn't sounded happy and an unhappy master had never meant good things for me. My fingers found their way back to my hair. Mr. Dean shifted behind me and a strangled whimper tore it's way from my throat.

"Shh...it's alright, Layla." He murmured soothingly. "I've got you." 

His warm arm crept around my shoulder and he gently pulled my to him, holding my against him and rocking slightly from side to side.

"I've got you."


End file.
